


Flying Root Vegetables And Other Hazards Of Unconventional Courtship

by dancinbutterfly



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha Jaskier | Dandelion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Banter, Brief mention of breeding and mpreg but none featured in this story, Courtship, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Flirting, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Prostitute Jaskier | Dandelion, Public Display of Affection, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: When one party is an Omega witcher and the other an Alpha whore, really, flying root vegetables are likely the least of ones concerns, albeit possibly the most immediate.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 113
Kudos: 1048





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is suzukiblu’s fault
> 
> (Fixed the format shit too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meets someone new and entertaining.

Alpha whores aren’t particularly common. Rarer still are those who’d deign to entertain a Witcher, Omega or otherwise. And in all his years on this earth Geralt has never encountered a working Alpha who was interested in serving a Witcher’s heat.

He can’t blame them. As uncommon as they are, Alpha in the oldest of professions partner with heating Omegas for the same reason working Omegas sell heats- in the tiny hope that this time, they’ll find themselves a mate, a life, a family. There’s no chance of that with him. He’s salted earth where other partners may bear fruit, which means caring for his needs in a heat is all burden without even the chance of reward. He can’t afford to pay for a pro knot typically, is lucky when he can get a room with a door that locks most heats, so he doesn’t expect that to change. The few Omega whores who have eased him through heats have done so in empathy.

“Can’t imagine a hundred years of this,” one woman had remarked, her chin resting contemplativelt on his thigh as he lay locked around her fist. “Almost makes an O greatful she can’t live forever.”

Geralt does not disagree. Though to be fair at the moment he’d been far too blissed our at the terribly satisfying feeling of clenching around her tiny, delicate wrist, locked tight and cooling from the inside out as she ground her knuckles brilliant against his core to have much of an opinion about anything. But if he’s had a mind with to think and a voice to speak he might have told her she was right.

The Alpha whore who approaches him in Posada, on the other hand, is not the type Geralt would concede anything to, every. He’s short and chatty and smells like the sort of Alpha who takes it O-style regularly. And worst of all he knows who Geralt is.

No, worst of all is the come on he uses, all big eyes and pouty lips. “You smell like-“

Geralt doesn’t look up from what’s left of his meal, a few crusts of bread, some bones and an empty bowl. “It’s onion.”

“Well yes. Cook out does herself with the onion soup, real beef stock, but no. This is something else.” The deep inhalation would be outright obscene in proper society. “Mm. Heroics and heartbreak. Never scented a preheat that carried a metaphor before. Come on, Witcher. Nest with me. Sit on my knot and tell me what makes you so grim.”

Geralt glances up and finds his grin is slanted and unfortunately handsome. “No.”

“Half-price. Bargain basement deal I never sell myself so low ask anyone. Stanislaw, what’s my going rate?” A potato flies across the room at them.

The Alpha dodges it so it catches Geralt in the temple which is mildly unpleasant. The whore makes an outraged noise and shouts “Is that any way to treat the best and only cocksucking you’ve ever had Stan?”

Geralt lifts the potato to his nose and sniffs it. It’s perfectly good which explains why the blow hurt. Rotten produce had much more give. He drops it in his bag and the whore laughs delightedly.

“Oh I do like you. Let me cook that for you, Omega,” he pleads on a soft purr leaning over the table towards him and Geralt has been stalked by monsters and never felt so cornered. “Let me give you wine from my cup and food from my hands.” He plants his elbows on the table, cupping his cheeks in his palms and mooning up at him. “I’ll leave you so satisfied you’ll cross the Continent to find me for every heat hereafter.”

Geralt quirks a brow. “How many times have you been hit in the head with root vegetables to make you this daft?”

“Never. I can duck. Come on, I’ll even let you stay in my rooms and I never do that.”

“Why would you do that now?”

“Because your face and body are divine, you smell like a gourmet meal of sex and I want to drown myself in your slick, choke on your cock, and feel you locked on my knot until that frown melts away.” The whore leans in even farther. “Has anyone ever told you you’re very suspicious?”

“Has anyone told you you’re very forward?”

“Constantly.” The Alpha says and rolls his warm blue eyes. “But you’re welcome to come nest in my bed. It’s not the biggest but it’s clean and soft and safe. I’ll treat you right.”

Geralt stares at the whore, his amused smile, at his laughing eyes and wishes his medallion vibrated when people lied. It would be so much easier that way.

“I’m Jaskier, since you asked.”

“The hell you are.” No one names their alpha child buttercup. No one.

“Well my given name is Julian Alfred Pankrastz, Viscount de Lettenhove but that’s a bit threatening for a man in my position don’t you think? Jaskier’s so much more engaging and enticing.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t know if he believes that either why would a viscount by turning tricks in a nowhere tavern? But he isn’t going to ask. He probably doesn’t want to know.

“Geralt’s lovely.” He drops his chin into his hand. “ So lovely. Cover our meals and I’m yours for your heat, lovely Geralt.”

“What happened to half price?”

“Your eyes happened. You have stunning eyes, lovely Geralt. I’ve heard witchers have cat eyes so they can hunt in the dark. I had a cat as a boy. When she was given something that made her happy, they’d go almost black. Do yours?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Never bothered to look?”

“Not much I want that would make me happy.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone has something.”

“I don’t.”

“Well that settles it.” Jaskier declares, slapping the table with both palms. He stands and holds out his hand. “Come with me and we’ll try and find something that pleases you.” He wiggles his fingers at Geralt, a few slender silver rings glinting in the light.

“For gods’ sake, Witcher, go with him.” A man calls from across the room. “I’ll pay for it if you get him out of here.”

“Oh will you?” Jaskier quips, head snapping to the voice.

The outstretched hand turns into an upheld finger asking that he wait then Jaskier made his way to a thin sharp faced man who’d made the comment. Geralt observes with some interest as the new target of his attention went pale as the small Alpha approached.

”Tymon you generous soul. He’ll take you up on that,” his uncalloused ringed hand lands on Tymon’s shoulder with, if the man’s grimace was any indication, some force and Tymon hands over some coin quicker and more freely than anyone in Posada had payed Geralt since he’d arrived.

As Geralt watched, Jaskier did a quick count before he released Tymon with a bright smile. “Yes that should do. Thank you. Do you know, I will never understand why your mate left you for that undertaker, my dear, you’re the far superior lover and provider. Terrible fellows, dead in bed and out.”

Geralt should not be surprised when Jaskier returns to him but he is Alpha whores do not offer at all and the certainly don’t get others to finance the endeavor. Yet here one half a foot smaller stands, with his hand outstretched, asking “Shall we?”

Geralt doesn’t say yes but he takes Jaskier’s hand. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to whether the rising heat alone.

Then Jaskier bows deeply at the waist and scrapes his Alpha canines over the scent glands in his wrist in a gesture of carefully deliberate courtship Geralt has never received anywhere, let alone in public, and he can’t lie anymore, at least not to himself. He wants this Alpha. He wants to share his heat with him. 

And he wants to be wanted. Even if it’s all a performance. He can deal with what that means later. After. Now he’s going to have this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt takes advantage of a fortuitous situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws up hands* Yall wanted this and you commented so here it is I guess. Yall are so great, I seriously only wrote this cuz yall interacted so much with the first chapter. Thank you for it all.

Jaskier’s room is so small it’s basically a closet. The bed is a straw mat, covered in admittedly lush quilts, on the floor. There’s a neat stack of laundry, more bedding and a handful of clothes in one corner, a leather case that holds an instrument of some kind, perhaps a mandolin or fiddle, and a small stone fireplace with a pot and a pan lying propped against the wall next to the poker.

It is not like any brothel room Geralt has ever been in. Then, this may not be a brothel room after all.

Jaskier must catch him looking because he declares, “It’s not much but it’s a place to rest one's head.”

“It’s fine.”

“Wonderful.” Jaskier clasps his hands together and beams. “Feel free to nest with anything you like. I’ll start the fire, steal some more linens from upstairs and-“

“No.”

“No?” Jaskier pauses mid hand-rub. “No what? I wasn’t even done telling you what I was going to do, which, in case you were wondering, was going to be using Tymon’s donation to furnish us with suitable rations of food, water and wine for the duration of your heat along with at least one bath as we will likely make quite the glorious mess of ourselves if I do my task as the gods intended.”

None of that sounds bad actually. It will give him time to build a nest in solitude with things that smell like this Alpha who wants him, which he’s never had the opportunity to do before, actually. It’s why he said no, to the linens. He doesn’t want sheets and pillows and gods only know what else that have been fucked on by gods only know who. Not when this small space smells only of Jaskier and, by the time he’s done, will smell of their fucking, mating.

Unfortunately he has to say that now. The little slattern can’t just leave it.

Geralt grits his teeth and jerks his chin at the bed. “This is enough.”

“Is it? Because it’s no trouble to get a bit more cushion for the pushing. Honest.”

Geralt suspects he is rarely honest and huffs a disdainful breath. “It is.”

“Alright.” He concedes, making his way to the fireplace. “Your nest, your rules.” He's good with a flint and tinder and the fire is roaring in a matter of moments. Then he ducks out with a bow that is nearly comical, leaving Geralt alone to nest.

Geralt hasn’t had many opportunities to nest in his life. Vesimir had allowed it his first heat, with the rags he’d stolen from the few other boys on the Path who had survived to presentation, though even then he’d known the importance of being quiet in discomfort.

After that first heat had come potions and other methods of alchemical suppression. He was partnered by a few of the Alpha boys under the careful observation of the Elders but that was always a nearly scientific undertaking and he was always taken for more trials after. He never knew what they saw. And on the rare occasions he’s had the opportunity to share his heat with Omega whores, the nesting is something half-done before he starts, their own spaces semi-permanent structures before he enters.

It’s been more than half a century since he’s been able to start from scratch. It’s awkward and he feels oddly shy as he piles Jaskier’s clothes into lumps under the quilts and adds the other blankets to the pallet. This is not his space, not his bed, but he can feel his nerves settling and his hips loosening with every adjustment to the humble nest. His nest. A brightly colored thing that smells of smoke and ale and clean Alpha sweat.

Geralt finds himself steeling himself as he stares down at the completed nest. He doesn’t have any compunctions about modesty. A youth spent at Kaer Morhen and a life lived on the Path cured him of that.

He hesitates now.

It feels vulnerable, to strip and settle into a heat nest of his own creation. But the idea of remaining fully armored and dressed for the Alpha to find is its own message that he has no interest in giving. So Geralt divests to bare skin and arranges himself as comfortably as he can in the too-small nest, his nest, and breathes.

The feeling that slips over him is remarkably like the sensation of sinking into a hot bath. The feeling is one of slow seeping almost immersive relaxation that he recognizes from a long soak but is alien for heat, which he can still feel rising. He should be getting agitated, tense, frantic as his arousal builds in his spine and floods his belly, leaking out his hole in thin streams of slick. Instead it’s like he’s melting into his own need, slow and thick like good beeswax in a lit candle.

There are so few things that Geralt wants. He wants himself and Roach to be well fed. He wants shelter for them when the weather is poor. He wants fair payment for his work. He wants people to forget about Blaviken.

And right now? He wants to be touched.

He doesn't let his hands roam his own body, doesn't writhe on the pallet. That's a step too far, even for such an opportunity as this. Instead he allows himself the indulgence of gliding his wrists over the blankets, scenting the nest so it smells of them instead of Alpha. Back and forth, the cloth rubbing over the soft glands is nothing like enough, but it helps and draws him deeper into that loosened state where he can relax, close his eyes, prepare.

He doesn't think he's so far gone that he fell into sleep but he is caught off-guard by a sharp intake of breath and suddenly the whore is standing over him, arms full of provisions, eyes wide and dark with lust.

"Sweet Melitele's tits but you are more beautiful than dawn over the North Sea. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No."

"More fool them, then." He sets down a sack full of what Geralt can smell to be good food and tolerable wine before kneeling beside him on the bare floor. "Hello, lovely Geralt. Rather impressive nest you've made there. May I have a closer look?"

Geralt rolls his eyes so hard they hurt because it is a pathetic nest on a pathetic bed in a pathetic room. But Jaskier smells like a meal made just to his tastes and he will not turn that down as he eats well so rarely. And gods, he is so hungry and open and waiting to be fed, filled, stuffed. Fuck.

"Give me your clothes and get in here."

Jaskier gives a small bow and tugs at the laces of his trews, beaming. "As my master commands."

Rich red fabric hits him in the chest and he is choked with Alpha scent as Jaskier sheds his doublet. His chemise follows and Geralt tucks them under the pillows and the study wool trousers he puts under the quilts. For later. And then he turns back to find Jaskier naked and hard and beautiful in front of him and oh. Oh, gods, he did what Geralt asked, didn't he? Yes, he had.

He feels a little dizzy, like he'd taken a sharp blow to the head but with none of the pain or nausea, just this strange, new heat that crawls through him like a spell. He feels tacky, made ichorous and languid when he wasn't paying attention, and that long, lovely cock is right there, for him. All for him. At his command. He gave a small, considering noise before catching the whore by the waist and ducking his head to lick him from the slight bulge at the base where his knot would swell to the soft delicate head just beginning to bead wetly in the firelight. He tastes salty and rich and makes Geralt clench as he twitches on his tongue.

"Oh, fuck!"

Geralt gives a small grunt of acknowledgement before licking him again, inhaling deeply again. Already strong to his senses, Alpha smell is rising now, growing sharper like blood and fresh grass and other things that are keenly alive. Geralt draws his cock into his mouth and sucks, chasing the taste and the smell of life that seemed to be born there.

Jaskier groans and plants a hand on Geralt's shoulders as his thighs shakes and his knees dig furrows in the nest. "Gods, your mouth is a crime, a miracle, a fucking-fucking-fucking revelation." Geralt rolls his eyes and tightens his grip on that narrow waist, sucking deeper. He tastes good. He feels good. He can keep talking all he wants so long as he doesn't spend before he can sit on his cock, and it seems he is going to. "The stories should be about your stunning, unholy tongue, shit."

The desire to drink him down, feel his seed coat his tongue and throat, is strong, but Geralt pushes it back. This Alpha is just a man and he does not have a Witcher's stamina. As much as he wants the taste, and fuck, does he want, it's not what he needs. He will not miss the rare opportunity to have a need slaked when it's presented with rashness, no matter how much he might delight in the outcome momentarily. He's lived too long to make that mistake.

He doesn't give Jaskier a chance to complain when he pulls off his cock, yanking him roughly into the wet space between his thighs as he falls onto his back. Jaskier is light but solid on his chest, breathless and chuckling at being so manhandled.

Geralt huffs and nudges him with a knee. "Get on with it."

"With greatest pleasure."

And oh, oh gods, but the Alpha does have a lovely cock and it feels good inside him, thick and hot and satisfying. He's been without so long that he isn't expecting the release of tension that comes. After all, this is normally when things become frantic.

Instead, the first thrust into his hole makes Geralt feel like he's come unspooled. He is normally a voracious lover, fierce and determined to see to his partner's pleasure even when coin has been traded, even when he is in heat, but this is different. This is something else. Now he is pliant and limp, content to take and take and take every smooth push and pull that hollows him out to the core and leaves him like water, formless and easy, something to be moved through rather than move. It is unlike anything he's ever felt and it is easy to become lost in.

“You’re burning me, lovely Geralt,” Jaskier breathes against his skin as the whore sets a maddening rhythm. “Hold me so hot and tight. Fuck.” 

A kiss lands on his neck. Another on his collarbone. Another on his cheek beneath his eye as Jaskier fucks in and in and in, relentless as waves on a shore.

“I can feel your heart beating in your cunt. It’s so slow and steady. If I could, I would write lullabies to its tempo.” Sharp teeth graze his jaw and the shell of his ear but all Geralt can do is sag into the sweet filth of it.

Curious fingers prod at the tight skin where Geralt is stretched around his swelling knot. Geralt moans and drops his head back as his fingers press against his rim, seeking entrance and finding it in the give of heat. His finger sinks in along his cock and Geralt can’t breathe for a long moment that feels like it goes on forever. When he exhales, a second digit has joined him and Jaskier is turning him inside out with his careful thrusts.

“You’re so easy, so soft and wet. So fucking lush.” Geralt whines as Alpha canines graze the pristine scent gland beneath his ear before laving it with his tongue. “How haven’t you been claimed by now? You’re so good. Someone should have made you theirs. It’s a sin that you’re not full of come, fat with- fat with child. I would. I would give you everything if you let me, knot you, seed you, breed you, mate you, claim you. So strong and ripe. Beautiful.”

Geralt would argue. He’d correct him. He would tell him all the ways a witcher is not a man and even less an Omega.

He would but the world has taken on a golden sheen and he is floating in a sea of pleasure. Argument is not worth it now. Nothing has value but riding this Alpha to orgasm and milking him until he knots, locks tight, pours a liquid blaze into his belly, fighting the fire of Omega heat with the fire of Alpha spend with a pleasure he’s never reached before. Geralt may be shouting but he can’t be sure. He’s gone momentarily deaf from the force of his orgasm.

Geralt feels every muscle in his body unwind and he flops across the nest in a satisfied puddle, limbs sprawled, body open. The Alpha pants into the hollow of his throat as he shivers through the knotting, hot bursts of seed flooding his channel with every tremor. The smell of it, Alpha and virile and alive, sates an itch deep in his brain.

“Fool,” Geralt grunts with his eyes still shut. It’s the best he can manage with his spine turned to soup.

“Fool with his knot plugging your ‘licious ass,” Jaskier slurs. “Give it half an hour an’ this fool’ll ride that ass ‘gain.” Then he gives Geralt a gentle slap in the flank and clicks his tongue like a Redanian lord with one of those pedigree horses they all breed over there.

Despite his dismay and the heat still cooking him and the fact that the Alpha on top of him, inside him, is a whore, Geralt can’t help but laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen I find it fucking hilarious that Jaskier is a Redanian viscount and will never, ever let it drop, ever
> 
> Anyway, I survive on a diet of feedback and input so please leave comment if you liked it. <3
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://www.dancinbutterfly.tumblr.com) still cuz why not so come hang out :D

**Author's Note:**

> If y’all liked this let me know. I live on your reviews. ❤️💛💚💙💜⚔️


End file.
